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Poe startles awake, consciousness pouring into him in seconds, already thinking about a thousand different to-do-lists before he remembers the war is over.
He blinks, collapsing back against the hard bedding, sighing. It feels so surreal, still, to wake up to relative peacefulness. He's used to constant movement in the base, the endless loop of tasks and repairs and debriefs and strategizing to defeat the First Order. He can only hear silence when he closes his eyes. His chest tightens, and he can't explain why.
He turns on his side, pleased to see BB-8, cleaned and repaired, stationed at his charging port for a well-deserved dormant period. He gets up just to give him a pat on its hemispherical head, appreciative, affectionate. This will earn him a lot of indignant beeps if BB-8 had been online. Thank god for small mercies.
Next to BB-8 is his drawer full of mementos, and he pulls out the top one to reveal holopics he’s kept of his parents. He’s long overdue for a call with his dad. He blows a kiss to their smiles, and once more for Shara, and doesn’t let himself linger for one second to wonder, would she be proud of him now? All the things he's done in the name of the Resistance, who he's become because of it?
He closes his eyes. He's general now, which means... what, exactly? He's still staying in the commander's quarters. No one has had the time—nor the heart—to clear out the General's room. There were more pressing things to do—there was a war going on, they were so outnumbered that housekeeping staff was upgraded for combat, but mostly—
Mostly he feels like it's not right, still. Kriff, he still refers to Leia as the General in his head.
Perhaps he should clear out his quarters. Karé will want to move in, eventually. Poe stares at his bedding and finds himself missing the bunk beds at the pilots' shared quarters.
In the midst of his rumination, BB-8 whirrs to life. He immediately notices Poe standing next to him and beeps at him, [What are you doing?]
"Good morning, BB-8," Poe says, voice hoarse from the early morning.
[Why are you still shirtless?]
"There was a celebration, didn't you hear?"
[Doesn't explain why you're shirtless.]
"Fine, I'm putting on my clothes," Poe says, picking up last night's discarded shirt, which kinda smells, but beggars don't get to be choosers. He slides the sleeves on, buttoning up the front. In the mirror, he looks roguish, none of the effortless elegance that the General so easily possesses.
(Well, I’m no Leia—that’s for damn sure—)
He turns to BB-8 just so he doesn't have to look at himself. "There. Happy?"
[Not really. The shirt is filthy. Also, you did not go to the celebration last night.]
"No, I'm pretty sure I did," Poe says, making his way to the corridor. General Organa is—was—always up before everyone else. Perhaps it's the one example he has no trouble following. BB-8 rolls behind him, still chirping—in the quiet of the early morning, BB-8 sounds almost like he's yelling.
[For five minutes! Then you went back to bed early.]
"I was tired, Bee," Poe says, which isn’t even a lie. He’d been flying for 36 hours up to that point, and when he sees Karé crying into Jessika’s shoulder, he’s no longer in any mood to celebrate. Snap. That one will haunt him for years.
[Nonsense! The Poe I know is always up for a good time!]
The celebration hadn't even been that. It's more of a tribute, they started off naming those they've lost, talking about the most endearing things about them, drank a little, danced a little. Then again, Poe wouldn't know—he did leave early, after—
[Is this because designated-Finn and designated-Rey—]
"Bee," Poe says in a low voice. "Maybe not in here."
BB-8 makes a low beeping noise which Poe has deduced to signify disapproval. But BB-8 does drop the subject. Another small mercy.
The command center is deserted—because why wouldn't it be?—but the screens are all online. Poe drags a chair, sits in front of one of the consoles, watching green dots blink on the screen. Messages of congratulations are intercepted from their allies, but Poe is already thinking about future treaties, trade negotiations, political relations. The First Order may have been defeated, but there are still leftover bases, perhaps half a dozen of members that escaped destruction, sympathizers of the Sith lords. Power vacuums will bring about a different kind of threat, one that surely will be treacherous—
A red light blips into existence, and Poe is jolted by surprise. Red means enemies, but all their enemies—those with enough resources to make a communication with the Resistance, at least—have all been decimated, so who—?
With dread, Poe clicks on the message.
Kylo Ren's face appears on the screen.
*
Poe manages to gather himself enough to notice the timestamp. The message’s pre-recorded, and clearly sent as a failsafe—he’s recorded his fair number of ‘If-I-don’t-make-it’ holovids to know that if Kylo Ren hadn't died, this message wouldn’t have arrived at the Resistance at all.
To no one’s absolute surprise, the message is intended for Rey.
Poe contemplates between showing this to Rey in private or calling a base-wide meeting, and decides that before anyone else, the woman who defeated Kylo Ren deserves to see it first. He comms Rey, who answers immediately—if he didn’t know better, he’d guess that Rey didn’t sleep at all.
Rey shows up looking tired, and for once, instead of the three-bun ‘do that reminds him awfully of old holopics of Leia, her hair is tied up in one high ponytail.
“Good morning,” Poe says to her.
“You better have a damn good reason to wake me up this early in the morning,” Rey grumbles as she drags a chair to sit next to Poe.
“Ren has a message for you,” Poe tells her.
Rey displays an equivalent amount of enthusiasm as someone who has just been told that she will be put into carbonite. "Of course he does," she mutters darkly.
“You wanna hear what he has to say?” Poe asks.
“I feel like I have little to no choice in this,” Rey sighs. “Hit me.”
He presses play, and Kylo Ren's voice filters through.
("Resistance," Kylo Ren says in his head. "You will give the information to me.")
"Resistance," Kylo Ren says on the screen, "During my time with the... First Order, they have collected a list of names of children who are force-sensitive in hopes of recruiting them to the Dark Side. I managed to retrieve those files and transferred it to your database."
(A world of pain—his head, splitting into two, put back together again, spat out of his skull—his thoughts, memories—oh god please stop—)
"Rey," Kylo Ren says, "I trust you will use those files wisely."
The message ends.
Poe blinks. “What?”
“Let’s just—let’s see the files,” Rey says instead, punching in codes that will decrypt the transferred files onto their database. She looks as tense as he feels. A progress bar appears on the screen, and waiting for it to complete suddenly feels so excruciating.
“So—what, he decided to turn to the Light Side just before he died?” Poe asks, crossing his arms across his chest. He’s only now just realized that the only thing he infers from Rey’s arrival on Ajan Kloss last night is that she’d defeated Kylo Ren—she never told him how.
Rey’s eyes are focused on the crawling progress bar. Poe can tell from the way she refuses to look at him that this is the last thing she wants to discuss. “No, I don’t think he did,” Rey finally says. Progress bar is at 23%. “But he wanted to.”
“So you didn’t…?”
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re asking,” Rey says. “He was thrown off a cliff. Never came back. He must’ve recorded this after we left Endor.”
Poe remembers Endor. Harsh, unforgiving wind, waves as high as a house, crashing over the discarded remains of Death Star. Finn, taking matters into his own hand and piloting the repurposed ship to the middle of the sea to take Rey back. Rey, dejected and exhausted, crying—I felt her die, Finn. I felt Leia die.
“He was going to the Light Side, when we met up with you on the Death Star,” Poe says.
“No,” Rey says, then frowns. “Maybe? God, I don’t know. All I know is that he showed up on Exegol to help me. He never mentioned any of these.”
“Do you think this could be a trap?” Poe asks.
The computer gives a definitive ping. Progress bar at 100%. “Well,” Rey says, licking her lips, “Let’s find out.”
Poe pores over the projections laid in front of him, extracted from Kylo Ren's files. A map of the galaxy spreads in front of him, and on each significant area, there’s a pin that can be expanded, showing names and data. It seems like there's no catch yet—no malware or any type of virus embedded to the files, no Force-related trap of some kind. It's what Kylo Ren said on the tin—files containing names of force-sensitive children, scattered all across the galaxy.
Beside him, Rey’s eyes have gone wide. "Poe, we must guard this information with our lives."
"Yeah, don't worry, our data is encrypted with the most—"
"I don't mean like that," Rey shakes her head. "The First Order may have fallen, but whole systems don't just crumble overnight. If even one person breathes these names at the wrong place, at the wrong time, they could be killed." Her eyes harden. "Or be seduced to the Dark Side."
"Yes, I know—"
"No one can know," Rey says, urgent.
"I get it!" Poe yells, and regrets it immediately. He sags against his chair. "Kriff, I'm sorry, Rey. I didn't mean to yell."
Rey wraps her arms around herself. "Apology accepted."
"It's—new," Poe says, gesturing to the room, to himself. "I'm still adjusting. I'm not sure if I can do this."
"No," Rey leans against his desk, a knowing smile on her lips. "Not alone. That's why you made Finn your co-general, right?"
Poe sighs. “And sometimes I feel like it’s still not enough.”
Rey goes silent. The map is reflected in her eyes, turning them greenish. Without looking at Poe, she says, "Do you want to know what Finn told me?"
It's so abrupt, Poe almost says yes. "No," he says. "I knew, Rey. I saw both of you—and I'm happy for you, really—"
"Poe," Rey says, taking her hands off the console. Her eyes are very kind. "Don't lie to me."
Poe looks away. "Don't make me say it."
"Everyone can see it," Rey says, and it feels like salt on fresh wounds.
"Except for Finn," Poe finishes for her.
"That's why you have to tell him," Rey says. Of course she'd encourage Poe to do that. Her heart is big enough for that. She raises her hand, like she wants to rest it on Poe's shoulders, but refrains at the last moment.
Poe's laugh is hollow. "I can't do that. I'm not going to ruin your relationship."
"There is nothing to ruin," Rey insists. She puts her hand gently on his shoulder, looks him dead in the eyes to say, "Because the thing that he told me? Is not at all what you think. He told me—well, he showed me, really—that he's Force-sensitive."
Everything in Poe's mind comes to a halt. "What?"
"Yes," Rey nods, a smile blooming on her face, full of joy and wonder and relief. "I think he's always had a feeling, but he just didn't know what to name it."
Poe very carefully compartmentalizes away every memory of the Force that has him flinching. This is Finn, and Finn—not harmless, exactly, but he wouldn't hurt Poe. "That's—" he searches for a word, "great."
"So you don't have to keep it all inside anymore," Rey says. "Tell him."
Poe thinks about their fight on Endor, him pointing a finger at Finn and exploding at Rey because—what, petty jealousy?
"I'm sorry, Rey," Poe sighs. "I wasn't—really nice to you."
Rey smiles. "I'm sorry I dropped a tree on BB-8."
Despite himself, Poe laughs.
*
General Organa once told him to not be haunted by the war.
At the time, Poe's young, freshly out of the Republic fleet, a hotshot pilot ready to go into battle. He was unafraid to die. Leia had looked at him with amusement in his eyes and asked him, "What will you do after the war ends, Poe?"
"War hasn't even started, General," Poe had said.
"Yes, but what will you do, once it ends?"
Poe had humored her with generic non-answers, but Leia had pushed, "No, Poe, what will you do?"
"Well, see, General, I'd tell you that I'd settle down and marry someone—hopefully, someone that I love enough to propose with my mother's ring—but I could do that now, even during the war," Poe had said coyly. "Who's to say that tomorrow, when I go on one of your missions, I wouldn’t meet the one?"
"Poe," General Organa had said, "Do not let this war define you."
But the war did define me, Poe had wanted to say. His heart beat—still does—in the rhythm of the war, growing with stores of wicked Han Solo, brave Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, and daring Leia Organa. Legends that he kept to heart and saw in real life. His parents breathed in the tone of the war, absent because of it, Shara died a hero because of it. His fate was sealed the moment his mother put his hand on the console of her A-Wing and taught him how to fly planet-bound at the age of four: he would be one hell of a pilot.
There is nothing else that he knows other than that. Can take the boy out of the war, but can't take the war out of the boy.
"Do you actually believe the war will end?" Poe had asked instead.
"Yes," Leia had said resolutely. She still had hope.
But Poe had a holovid of his parents, stranded in an icy cave on Hoth, huddling together for warmth, his dad saying, dejectedly, Poe won't have freedom. The rebellion won't win. The Empire won't fall. And his mom, with so much light in her eyes, saying, Yes, we will. We destroyed the Death Star.
Years later, the Empire reinstated itself as the all-new First Order. Poe had only been nineteen when he joined the Academy. General Organa’s question was kept in the back of his mind. He'd resigned himself to the idea that he might not even live to see what he himself would do if peace was indeed achieved. He'd die, as a pilot, making a sacrifice for the Resistance, or simply would not live to see peace in his lifetime.
Leia was like him—her whole life had been about the war. As a princess, then as a rebel, senator, general. He wishes for her guidance, desperately wishes his old self had asked Leia back, what would you do after the war ends?
Leia would know what to do.
Because he sure as kriff does not.
*
"We need to have a meeting," is the first thing Finn says to him.
Poe blinks, remembers Rey encouraging him to profess his undying love for Finn, and says, "Yes. We need to discuss our next plans going forward, especially if we’re going to have two Jedis on base.”
Finn looks puzzled for a second, then his face relaxes. "She told you."
Poe grins. “From Stormtrooper to a Jedi. You’re going to go down in history as a legend, buddy.”
Finn groans. "It's still—look, I don't know if I'm really going to be—that, it's just," he shrugs, "a feeling."
“You could’ve told me,” Poe says.
“You were hurt by the Force, Poe,” Finn says quietly. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”
Poe imagines him in the white robes that he sees in history books, holding a lightsaber. Imagines him using the Force, and has to stop himself before he does something he regrets, like puke all over Finn's shoes. God. Maybe Finn has made the right call, after all.
He’s more surprised that Finn’s picked up on it. He’s never told Finn about Kylo Ren’s torture, driving him close to insanity, the nightmares that he has from that experience. Does he think that he bickers a lot with Rey because she has the Force, and Poe’s wary of her? Does it make Finn like him less, that he—seemingly—hates a big part of Rey, the most important person in his life?
“You didn’t have to tell me,” Finn says, as if reading his mind. He can probably do that, if he wants. Poe still isn’t sure how he feels about it. “Remember that night in the Falcon? I heard you having nightmares.”
That, perhaps, is the most humiliating thing Finn has ever said to Poe. He winces, “Shit. Sorry you had to see that.”
Finn shakes his head. “No, I get it. We used to have those, too. You know. Back then.” Finn doesn’t have to specify—Poe knows every back then means back at the First Order. "Besides, I'm not training under her. I have other plans. I'm going on a mission to rescue the Stormtroopers.”
His eyes are full of purpose. Poe wants to get sucked into it, the pools of belief and faith in those deep eyes. "It's going to be a long mission, and I know I can't save every single one of them, but I have to try. Some of them—they may not even know that there's a choice, that life exists outside of the First Order. They'll especially be the most vulnerable now, some people might try to take advantage of this strange ceasefire,” he takes a deep breath. "I want to help them."
"Of course," Poe says.
Finn looks taken aback. "You're not—against it?"
"No," Poe says, frowning. "Why would I be?"
"Well... I'll be leaving the base, for one," Finn looks down, at his fidgeting fingers, then up at Poe's face again. The set of his jaw is solid, and Poe knows that even if he tries to stop him, Finn won't have it. "Are you sure you can lead the Resistance on your own?"
"There isn't much resisting left to do," Poe says. Something in his chest feels tight as he said it. Leia's question rings loud in his ears: what will you do after the war ends?
Finn's smile is small, unsure. "Chewie is coming with me," he informs, "Artoo and Threepio, too."
"Ah," Poe grins, "Hope you don't die of a clash of personalities."
Finn laughs, and, unexpectedly, goes in for a hug. Caught unawares, Poe hugs back awkwardly, his nose smushed against Finn's shoulder, his scent attacking his senses. He closes his eyes and imagines this moment lasting forever. Imagines taking Finn's face in his hands, kissing his lips, his temples, his neck. Imagines telling him nothing makes sense right now except for the weight of Finn's hands around his chest, their bodies pressed together, separated only by their thin clothes.
They pull away, and Poe tells him, "Go, General."
Finn nods. "General," he says, his head bowed a little, and Poe finds himself wishing that he could bottle a moment and get drunk on it.
*
There may not be a lot of resisting left, but there's a lot of rebuilding to do. For one last meeting before Finn takes off, Poe and Finn lead the discussion as co-generals, deciding on the best course of action for the Resistance and its members, as well as the galaxy going forward.
It's decided that a choice is what's best for the Resistance: those who choose to stay will help the efforts to stabilize the galaxy, and those who want to quit may do so, no strings attached. Missions to demolish the last of the First Order's siege will commence in the days following the fall of Palpatine, and Poe tries not to think too much about the part of himself that rejoices at the mere suggestion of battle leftovers. They'll gain allies, get trading going again to alleviate their cashflow, and build an actual base, one with working 'freshers and med-bays that are a little more than just a mattress and a dozen pack of bacta squares. The idea of a military tribunal is even briefly touched, but for now, Poe prioritizes his rebuilding efforts to making post-war adjustment as painless as possible for the Resistance.
Rey announces that she will restore the Jedi Order.
“Better, this time,” she promises. “With compassion and love.”
She won’t be staying on the base for long, feeling in her heart that she shouldn’t wait too long to find the children, but says that as long as she’s on Ajan Kloss, she will do her best to help with anything. And please, Poe, let me work on the Falcon alone, thank you.
She asks Poe for permission to bring BB-8 along with her, and Poe can't—won't—say no, not when she looks so hopeful and BB-8 trills and rolls around in excitement at the idea. She says her first stop will be Tattooine, the planet Luke Skywalker was raised in, then she will begin searching for the first of the names on The List.
He notices that not once does Kylo Ren’s name comes out of Rey’s lips, and thinks, Good. He didn’t deserve to be remembered as a hero after one good deed.
Finn—
Lando is leaving Ajan Kloss. Staying doesn't fit me, he says with a sad look in his eyes. This place must be a reminder of everyone who's left him. There are spaces where Leia used to be, areas in the Millennium Falcon that belonged to Han, to Luke. Poe understands not wanting to live among ghosts.
Jannah has decided to come with him.
Finn—
Finn is sitting right here, in front of him, tinkering with the Worlds Map projected in front of him, muttering to himself. He does that a lot, talking to himself, and Poe wonders if it's a habit he picked up when he was a Stormtrooper—not having anyone he can talk to without breaking protocol, so he talks to himself, says what he's thinking out loud, narrates his activities without noticing.
"Where are you thinking of going first?" Poe asks, just so he can hear Finn talking. This time, he commits to memorize it, every lilt and tilt to his voice. He’s getting close to the last time he will hear it.
Finn makes a thoughtful humming noise. He enlarges one part of the map with a touch of his hand, and points, “Black Spire Outpost, Batuu." He then grins, suddenly child-like, and says, "Man, I've always wanted to do that. I've seen many officers do that when I was a 'trooper and always wondered if it'd feel as cool as it looked."
"Batuu?" Poe frowns. "The cargo? No, Finn, that's way too dangerous. That will be the first place any members of the First Order will go to regroup."
"I know," Finn says. "We—back then, it was written in the protocol. In the event of us surviving an attempt to destroy the First Order, Batuu will serve as a temporary headquarters while the Supreme Leader regains his strength."
"Finn—"
"That's why I have to go there, Poe," Finn says. "There will be a lot of 'troopers there, waiting for orders or any contact from the First Order. They'd be at their most vulnerable." He leans back, eyes going faraway, "Which is why I have to get there first. I'd have more of a chance to convince them to defect if I was the first person they see."
"Going out there, only with Chewie," Poe rubs a hand down his face, sighing. "Finn, that'll be a suicide mission."
"That's why I'm making a bunch of stops, before," Finn grins. He enlarges another point on the map. "Jannah told me about these rumors, of ex-trooper settlements in remote planets like Sargon. No star port, no industrial centers, low population density."
“So you’ll be recruiting them?”
“Only if they want to,” Finn says. “If they don’t, I’m going to help them resettle. Maybe get them to teach other ex-stormtroopers how to live outside of the First Order. Whatever it is, it will be their choice.”
“That means your mission will last for a long time.”
Finn looks unperturbed. “Might even span my entire lifetime.”
So matter-of-fact. Poe watches the way his fingers move across the projections, clicking at planet details and point of interests, and does not think about spending a lifetime without Finn.
This is what Finn will do after the war, Poe realizes. His shoulders don’t look heavy. He’s smiling. Like Rey, this is someone who has found the answer to Leia’s question without being asked, someone who has found the thing that Poe has lost as the last of the First Order fleet blew up in Exegol: purpose.
“I can’t think of a more noble thing you could do,” Poe reaches out, gripping Finn’s shoulder, but even as Finn is smiling back at him, he can’t help but feel like he’s losing Finn through the cracks between his fingers.
*
Poe asked the General once, “What keeps you going, General?”
Victory sounded too far away, too naïve. He had lost another mate on a mission gone wrong. He watched Kez Dunne’s X-Wing explode into tiny scraps of metal in front of him, helpless and far too late to do anything. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, but Poe felt guilty all the same. When the squadron landed on the tarmac, he couldn’t look anyone in the eyes. Went straight for his room and stared at the ceiling for hours until he got too exhausted to keep his eyes open.
He’d done everything according to the captain’s orders. Everything was up to protocol, and yet—
He watched a thousand years pass in the General’s eyes. Sometimes, she could look oddly young, but other times, she looked to Poe like an ancient god, tired of her own religion. The General rarely ever let her emotions show in front of others, expressed only kindness and wisdom in the time that Poe had been under her command, but that day he saw a deep sadness pool in her eyes, taking him with it the more he stared, until he felt like drowning in it.
“People,” she’d answered simply.
The Resistance treated her with reverence, but it wasn’t only once or twice Poe overheard soldiers whispering amongst themselves, If it weren’t for her son, we wouldn’t be in this war. Poe wondered if those soldiers were included in people.
“People?”
“Why else would you fight for the galaxy,” the General turned to look at him, her smile, though tired, hopeful, “if not because you love some of the people living in it?”
“In an abstract sense, sure,” Poe said.
“You think the concept of people is abstract?”
“No,” Poe said, “Love is.”
The General had laughed, more out of surprise than the sheer teenage angst emanating from his previous statement. Feeling chastened, Poe said, “I don’t really know people. Sure, I know everyone on this base by name, but I don’t know them. I would die for them, but that also means I would die for everyone, you know? If it’s something I would do for everyone, then isn’t the love I have for people not special?”
“Why does love have to be special?” the General said, amused.
“Well, isn’t it?” Poe said. The General’s only response was two raised eyebrows. “My apologies, General, it’s just,” he thought of Kez Dunne’s last moments, how they’d still been joking as their X-Wings took off, how it all went terribly wrong in a matter of seconds. “It’s beginning to feel—difficult.”
“It’s never easy to lose a fellow soldier,” the General said after a while. “I would not lie to you and say it gets easier overtime, because it doesn’t.”
“That’s not very encouraging,” Poe said.
“No, but it’s the truth,” the General said. “You think I have all the answers, but I’m struggling with the same things you do, Poe. I just think that there is nothing else that can be done except to go on.” Her gaze went thousands of years old again, but this time, the sadness didn’t feel so suffocating. “To surrender would be like saying everyone died in vain. And I wouldn’t want that.”
Their conversation ended there, but like many conversations with Leia, Poe didn’t stop thinking about it until days after. People. Love. His parents fought so he could have a future where he didn’t have to fight. He was the people that they loved.
That night, Poe slept for three hours, clutching onto Shara Bey’s ring for comfort. He ate breakfast in the mess hall, played along with Jess’ efforts to make him laugh, Snap teasing him about a cursed time in his undercover mission where he had to pose as a spice runner, Karé egging him on. He’d taken one look across the table at his friends—family, really, while he was in the sky—and wondered if this was what the General had meant. He’d thought himself so selfish, to think of love as an abstract concept when it was right in front of him, warm and close-knit and familiar.
And then the General assigned him on a solo mission to Jakku.
*
(The rest, as they say, is history)
*
The thing is, Poe has always been a little bit in awe of Finn.
There’s an inherent goodness in Finn that makes him want to weep every time he thinks about it. It’s not just that he managed to break through nearly three decades of mental conditioning and indoctrination, or that he saved Poe’s life—
(Only for him to fail them, crash-landed in Jakku, Finn nowhere to be found—)
It’s that he’s been saving Poe, every day since then.
Jess and Karé and Snap and Nien, he loves them like family. He’d die for them if it ever comes down to it.
But Finn.
Finn, with his genuine smile and kind eyes and so much wonder and curiosity about the world, Finn who holds his heart in his hands and doesn’t even know it, Finn makes him want to live, and he’s never had that feeling about anyone, before, and it scares him how much of that is still true, until now.
Then again, he’s always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie.
*
Light has barely touched the green grass of Ajan Kloss, but there’s movement already in the hangar. Nowhere near as fast-paced as wartime, but there’s enough urgency in the brisk way the technicians and mechanics walk that Poe feels a little like he’s going back to war. Might as well, with what he’s about to do.
BB-8 rolls into Rey as soon as she comes into view. Rey kneels down, replying BB-8’s entirely-too-happy-for-this-hour beeps with just as much excitement. BB-8’s beeps gradually slow down, and Poe manages to catch the winds of it as he gets closer.
[—miss Designated-Finn.]
“I know,” Rey’s smile is soft. “I will miss him, too.”
She glances up at him like he knows he’s coming from a mile away—she probably definitely does—and says, “Won’t you, General Dameron?”
Poe is saved from answering when Finn climbs out of the Millennium Falcon, sprinting straight towards them.
(The answer would be, yes, I will miss him so much and I already miss him even if he’s still here, I can’t imagine not having him here, with me, it will be like a piece of me is missing. Do you know what I mean, Rey?)
He barrels into the two of them. Rey’s laugh is high and melodic as she wraps them in her arms. She’s tinier than the two of them, so her arms don’t fit around them, and Finn helps by pulling Poe close to him. Poe’s nose is pressed into the crook of Finn’s neck, and this, too, Poe will commit to his memories, the smell of standard-issue bar soap, something that reminds Poe of morning dew in Yavin 4, in a time where the idea of war and winning it feels like a bedtime story.
“I was beginning to think I wasn’t getting sent off by anyone,” Finn says once he manages to extricate himself from his and Rey’s arms.
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Rey says.
Then Finn turns a little somber. “I only wish I could be there to send you off.”
“We will see each other again,” Rey grips his upper arm, and something that Poe doesn’t feel privy to see passes between their eyes. He imagines they were using telepathy, which is completely fine and normal and does not bother Poe one bit. “If you ever change your mind—”
“I know, Rey,” Finn says.
Rey nods once, and lets him go. “I’m going to go say goodbye to Chewie,” she says, sending a pointed look towards Poe that she really doesn’t have to, gesturing for BB-8 to follow her. The astromech droid trills happily after her, but not before cheering, [You can do this, Poe!]
“BB-8 sounds really happy,” Finn notes. Poe is grateful he has yet to understand droid. “I’ll master the droid language someday.” Poe really hopes it’s never.
“Finn,” Poe starts. “I’m gonna miss you a lot, General.”
“You’ll be fine,” Finn says, even though Poe really does not think so.
“Yeah,” his breath is shaky, his throat dry, even though he’s downed an entire mug of caf minutes before he came here. There’s no time beating around the bush; Finn is leaving in minutes. He takes off his necklace, pulls Finn’s right hand, palms up, and lets his mother’s ring fall into it. Finn looks confused, and then his eyes widen—he knows who the ring belongs to, has listened to Poe talking about it on one more occasion, that his father, unlike his mother, keeps his wedding ring around a chain on his neck so she will be closer to his heart, and Poe, after his mother’s passing, doing the same in honor of her. Finn knows the significance.
Poe pushes at Finn’s fingers gently so they’ll close around the ring.
“Poe,” Finn says, his eyes wide.
“I want you to keep this,” Poe says, daring himself to look into Finn’s eyes.
“But it,” Finn looks up, “belongs to your mom.”
“Now it belongs to you.”
“Poe, you’ve already given so much for me,” Finn says. “You gave me my name, your jacket, this life—I can’t possibly take this, too.”
“Then return it to me,” Poe keeps his hand on Finn’s, just so Finn doesn’t try to give it back to him. “When you’re back, when you’ve filled your purpose and made the galaxy better, come back and return it to me.”
Finn looks at him. “Poe, that can be for a long time.”
“You can keep it as long as it takes,” Poe says. “I’ll wait.”
Finn looks down at Poe’s ring, looks at Poe, like he wants to continue arguing. Chewie is roaring from the window of the Falcon, calling for Finn.
“I will,” Finn says, his voice shaky somewhat, and puts on the necklace. The ring dangles from his neck like it’s always meant to be there.
Poe swallows. “Safe travels, General.”
Chewie roars again, more urgent this time, and Finn yells out, “I’m coming!” Turning to Poe again, his smile is almost sheepish, “I—I should go.”
Poe nods around the lump in his throat and watches Finn run to the Falcon. Chewie says something to him that must be along the lines of what took you so long? He sees Finn gesture something and inserts himself into the Falcon, and has to let himself believe that Finn is just going on a mission, not leaving him.
The fact that Finn’s taking a piece of him is at least a little comforting.
Rey walks back to where he stands, BB-8 trailing behind her, with her eyebrows raised. “I didn’t see a kiss.”
Poe shrugs.
A beat, then it dawns on her. “Poe Dameron,” she says, and she sounds strained, “You didn’t tell Finn?”
BB-8 is more offended, [You didn’t tell Designated-Finn? How could you! That was your last chance!]
“I gave him my mother’s ring,” Poe says, just to appease them. “That’s as good as a declaration of love goes. A great approximation of one, I should say.”
The engine of the Millennium Falcon whirrs to life, still loud despite all the repairs, and it almost drowns out Rey’s exasperation. “Finn needs words, Poe! You had the chance and you didn’t take it, and now you have to wait for, what, months until Finn’s back on the base again, and you’ll never have a moment like that again—”
The sound dies, all of a sudden. Poe’s back straightens in alarm. Is the engine broken? Has the Millennium Falcon finally served its time? Rey cuts herself off, her forehead creased. “Are the compressors shot again?” Poe asks Rey.
“No, I replaced them just yesterday,” Rey says. “The radiator?”
“Pressure’s looking fine last time I checked,” Poe says, and he’s running towards the Falcon before he knows it. He doesn’t see smoke, at least, so that lessens his worries.
The door opens with a hiss, and Finn sticks his head out, looking frantic. “Finn!” Poe calls out. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
Chewie’s groan is high, annoyed. Threepio comes up behind him, babbling, “Master Finn! This is very unbecoming of you. We are just about to take off, after all, I cannot understand why you suddenly decided to turn back around—”
“Poe,” Finn says, rushing down the side of the Falcon, and captures Poe’s lips in his. It’s far too brief to be called a kiss, and Poe’s pretty sure he bangs his head on a parked A-Wing when Finn crashed into him and he’s also seeing stars, but it could be from the kiss.
“Oh,” Poe says dumbly.
“We’ll talk when we get back, yeah?” Finn says. Poe can only nod mutedly, his hands cupping Finn’s face, still not sure if any of this is real or if he’s just living in a very vivid dream. Finn kisses him again, and this time Poe has enough of his mind to kiss back, lips falling open under Finn’s as he crowds him further into the A-Wing, lets himself be consumed with the sheer sensation of being kissed by him.
Somewhere behind him, someone starts clapping. He has a feeling that it’s Rey.
When they let go, Finn is breathless, lips obscenely shiny. That’s an image Poe won’t forget for a long time. He hears a whistle and looks around to find the morning shift gathered around them, applauding, and Poe laughs nervously, holding onto Finn because he’s not too sure what’s going on.
“I thought I’d be the one to kiss you,” Poe says.
“You thought wrong,” Finn says, and kisses him again for the trouble.
*
Finn leaves after the third kiss, much to Chewie’s unheard protests. Poe watches as the silhouette of the Millennium Falcon becomes smaller and smaller, and finally disappears from the sky altogether. On his way to the command center, where his work day starts, he keeps having to field knowing looks and high fives from smug friends. It’s strange to be embarrassed over it, but he should’ve known that anything that has to do with Finn will throw him into uncharted territories.
Despite himself, everything feels new and sacred, and some self-sabotaging part of himself believes that thrusting this into the public’s eye will reduce the chances of it working between them before it even takes root. Another part, though, one that’s bigger and more concealed, loves that Finn kisses him in front of anyone—not once, not twice, but three times—just so everyone is well aware that he is Finn’s.
Then again, he’s probably overthinking it. A handful of hours later, it seems as though the entire base has forgotten about Finn’s grand gesture. Poe certainly hasn’t, but it is shoved very gently to the back of his mind in favor of dealing with a new transmission intercepted from the ruins of the First Order. A message of surrender. The question of a military tribunal is brought up again, and this has sparked a heated argument that lasts well into the evening, with no discernable decision in mind.
It’s stressful, and Poe still thinks all this negotiating is way above his paygrade, but he keeps thinking of General Organa, how she makes Poe her next-in-line in command and entrusts him with leadership even after she’s been witness to the stupid decisions that Poe’s made.
What will you do after the war ends, Poe?
Poe looks around, at Lieutenant Connix arguing that it is within Resistance’s jurisdiction to establish an inquisitional system to try the First Order, at Admiral Ackbar pointing out that it oversteps their fragile relationship with the New Republic, at Rose reminding everyone that the Resistance is meant to restore freedom and peace to the galaxy.
In a few standard months, Finn will come back. Perhaps he’ll even be next to him, leading the discussion, passing solutions, and after the sun goes down, Poe can take him to the highest point in Ajan Kloss, spending the night looking at the stars.
He hasn’t fleshed out the details yet, but he’s beginning to think that he now has an answer.